The second hand ticked away, drilling into Song Shijiu's ear, a pressure as if urging her to open her mouth. She gazed at Li Shiyi; she was still a slender bamboo, the cool breeze and floating moon, slim and elegant, like the clean origin within the turmoil and chaos of war. The Taishan Fujun was good, and the xiansheng who inquired of the coffins was fine as well; actually, she'd always been this attractive; at that time, how had it been that she'd though, at that time, that she was like an enchantress? She couldn't quite remember. She followed blindly in suit of her, as if having been wrapped within a shell, hidebound by convention. Only in this moment, she felt the inflexible clock having run into her mind, the second hand, at one side, separated from the hour hand, letting out a ticking " beng " sound, like some sort of lamenting sound of termination. Her curled lashes were like the clock's hand as well, touching as they closed, then breaking apart. Sh...